Never Truly Gone
by Zanchev
Summary: "Come, my child. Come lay with your Grandpa Rome and tell me your troubles." Little Italy has a nightmare and turns to his beloved but weary grandfather for guidance.


**Story:** Hetalia

**Rating:** K+ - T

**Summary:** "Come, my child. Come lay with your Grandpa Rome and tell me your troubles." Little Italy has a nightmare and turns to his beloved but weary grandfather for guidance.

**Never Truly Gone**

A light sniffling sound breached the silence of the Great Roman Empire's personal library. The Empire himself looked up in surprise, only to soften his look of suspicious alarm to one of gentle protectiveness.

Young Northern Italy stood at the doorway, sniffing and trying to hold back tears. Rome smiled softly at his grandson and gestured for the young country to approach.

"Why, my dear Italy, what is the matter?" He murmured.

Italy refused to speak; instead burying his tear-stained face into his grandfather's warm chest. The Empire held the distressed child close, the tender smile never once leaving his lips.

After long minutes of comfortable silence, Rome sighed and placed his grandson gently on the floor. He stood, stretching his aching muscles and shaking his weary head. He was old, he was tired, and he was slowly growing weaker. Rome pushed this from his mind and turned to take Italia's tiny hand.

"Come, my child," He said softly, smiling at the babe. "Come lay with your Grandpa Rome and tell me your troubles."

Italia followed his grandfather back to his own chambers and allowed the man to tuck him snugly between the sheets of his large bed. Rome laid himself beside the child and eyes him curiously. Little Italy shuffled uncomfortably, tears once again forming in his large, expressive eyes. Alarmed, Rome once again asked why Italy was so upset. Rubbing his eyes, Italy tearfully replied.

"I had a bad dream, Grandpa Rome. One where you could no longer sustain the burdens you've placed upon yourself. You grew weary, you got hurt, badly. You fell. I do not want you to get hurt, Grandpa Rome!"

Rome paused, oddly touched by the honest, tear-filled confession. He gathered his beloved grandson in his weary arms and held the sobbing child close, ignoring the protests of his aching back, aching head, and aching heart. He bent his head to touch Italy's – forehead to forehead – and spoke softly.

"My little North Italy, my wonderful, loving grandson, do not worry yourself. I'll never be gone. While my body may grow old and frail, I am still as strong-willed and keen-minded as I've ever been. I will never go away, not really.'

Italy sniffed and looked up at Rome in hopeful adoration. The aching in the old man's heart intensified briefly, before warming into a pleasant pang. The Empire smiled softly once more.

"Sleep now, child. All is well. I will still be here when you awake."

Reassured and comforted, Italia reached up and kissed Rome on the forehead, before settling sweetly in his grandfather's protective arms and gently falling asleep. Rome's smile grew wider as he watched the child slowly succumb to slumber. He returned the affectionate brush of lips to temple, before settling down further into the softness of the bed, hoping to rest his tired frame.

As the weary Empire gave into his aches and pains, the smile never left his worn features; reassured that little Italy was safe and sound in his arms…

***Hetalia***

That night, the Great Roman Empire finally fell. The kind old man finally gave in and allowed the scars and wounds of battle claim his ancient body, allowed the weight of his responsibilities to crush his mind and slip unnoticed from his shoulders. As he faded away, he remembered his words to his little Italy, and ripped a section of cloth from his tattered cloak.

He laid Italia tenderly upon the bed alongside the shredded cloak and gently kissed his forehead.

"Love to you always, my child," He murmured, eyes sparkling with unshed tears and lips quirked in a cheeky half-smile, the warmth of which remained long after the Empire faded into oblivion…

***Hetalia***

Italia awoke suddenly, shivering and alone. Tears threatened to fall as the young boy realised that his beloved grandfather, the Great Roman Empire, was nowhere to be found.

Tiny hands rubbed furiously at the tears, trying in vain to banish them from sight. Reluctantly, the boy gave u and let his small hand fall to his sides, landing on a foreign, yet familiar material. Italy looked down to see a small scrap of cloth, aged and worn.

Recognising it almost immediately, Italia smiled gently and took the shred of his Grandfather's cloak into his hands, almost reverently. After a moments pondering, Italy removed his little hat, folded the cloth into a triangle, and tied his short hair back.

As the child crawled out of the large bed and moved to examine his new bandana in the room's full-length mirror, Italia thought he could see the Empire he loved so dearly smiling down at him in the reflection. The little country smiled, tears now flowing freely.

"Never truly gone… Right, Grandpa Rome?" He whispered, hand pressed against the glass in a final farewell. The reflection Rome grinned and knelt down to press his hand against Italia's, and the child convinced himself the hand was warm. An echo of his loving grandfather's voice sounded in little Italy's ear, and the boy smiled.

"Love to you always, Grandpa Rome. Always."

**AN ~**

**A little non-romantic Italy ficlet that's been waltzing round my mind for a while now… I must say I'm glad to finally have it out of my head and written on paper… or in a computer, which is good too…**

**Well, now I've gotten all of the uncomfortable cutesy mushiness out of my system, I can get back to the cynical angst of my other fics :D**

**Please, please, please give me feedback, as this is my first attempt at a really cutesy-type K+ rated fic, and I kinda wanna know if anyone cried… :D**

**And, by all means, flames are welcome! I want to barbeque my self-esteem, so flames are, in fact, encouraged :)**

**See y'all later!**

**Sayonara**

**Z.**


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